Shoot to Kill
by mockingjayme
Summary: It's been over a year since Beth was taken, but Daryl refuses to give up the search. What he finds is not the girl he used to know. Time changes people. But sometimes... it can bring them back.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I wrote a few opening chapters to this story before I settled on this one because I wanted something that was more of a hook, but in the end, I decided that even though this might be kind of a boring chapter (especially considering what it **_**will**_** be) it's a look inside Daryl's head and I feel like it's necessary for the story. So bare with me on this, I promise it gets better.**

Somewhere along the way, Beth's company had become Daryl's sunshine and in the days and the weeks and the months since she'd been gone, the sun could never shine quite as bright. He was relentless in his search for her, unwilling to give up. She'd been with _him_ last and that weighed heavier on his conscious than he cared to pay mind to. _He_ had failed her. _He_ had been the one meant to keep her safe and he hadn't been able to. She counted on him and he had let her down. The guilt ate him up inside, left him raw and hollow. He hadn't been able to save Sophia and Beth had been kidnapped on his watch. The burdens weighed heavier and heavier until he found himself on his hands and knees, crossbow laid out just within reach. His vision clouded with hot salty tears. Out here in the woods, he was free to grieve. He was free to feel weak and tired and useless.

These woods were the very same that he and Beth had shared; the woods where he had taught her how to track, to hunt, to hold a crossbow and aim. He'd given her all the tools he'd thought she'd needed and in the end, it still wasn't enough.

"Daryl."

The voice was soft, knowing, calling to him from far enough away that he could wipe the salty wetness from his face and still keep his dignity. He wiped quickly with the back of his hand, sucking in a breath as he gathered himself back together, pulling himself upright and throwing his crossbow around his shoulders.

"You were gone awhile, just thought I'd check on you." Carol took slow and deliberate steps forward, her lips pressed into a thin line of understanding. He hadn't told her much, but she knew that Beth had been special to him in a way that only they understood. Stopping an arm's length away from him, Carol let one strap of her backpack fall from her left shoulder and balanced it on her hip as she rifled through. Her fingers clasped around a glass neck and she held it out for him to inspect. "Got ya something."

Daryl didn't move a moment- wouldn't even meet her gaze- but his eyes fell to the bottle in her hands. He was half expecting a bottle of moonshine, another haunting memory, but instead it was an amber whiskey and his hand reached out to pluck it from her. He grunted out a thanks as Carol watched him, teetering unsurely by a tripod of trees, throwing her pack back around her shoulders. Sometimes he'd send her away, but when he didn't, she knew it was because he didn't want to be alone. She could understand that. He didn't talk to her much, especially not about his feelings, but they found a comfort in each other that had been unrivaled by the rest of the camp, try as they might.

He'd all but become a phantom of their group. He was tired; tired of losing people, tired of feeling responsible for it, tired of the heartbreak that came with attachment. He couldn't understand them anymore, he couldn't find his niche. Maybe he didn't want to. So he kept to himself, choosing instead to stick with hunting, being part of nature. Nature wasn't going anywhere anytime soon and if it was, it was taking him with it. He could count on that.

Unable to hold off any longer, he unscrewed the cap and tossed it somewhere to the left of him. He wasn't gonna need it. Sensing Carol still behind him, he sighed at her insistence and met her gaze. With a nod, he invited her to sit and took a healthy swig of the whiskey in hand before wiping his mouth off and offering some to his not entirely unwelcome company. She complied, quiet with a grimace as the liquid burned its way down.

They sat in silence that way for a while, passing the bottle back and forth between them. "You been holdin' onto this a while?" He asked, breaking the silence, his eyes on the emptying glass as he swirled its contents around before handing it back to her.

With a foggy head, she bit back a quirk of her lips. He was playing at normal and she was going to let him. They could keep the charade going for long enough to let the pain go for a moment. "I was waiting for a special occasion."

"You was just holdin' out on me." He met her gaze finally and she could see just how tired he looked. Her heart broke for him, but there was nothing that she could do, nothing that she could offer to fill in the empty, broken pieces, so she played along, clinging desperately to this moment of normalcy before it lost itself to the real world.

She lifted her shoulders and let them fall in an unapologetic shrug. "You still got it, didn't you?"

Daryl didn't respond immediately and Carol didn't have to look at him to know that his demons were back at his shoulders, weighing him down, sucking the life out of him. "Yeah. Yeah, I still got it." His voice was wistful, far away. His eyes stared off in the distance at something she couldn't see and she looked down at the bottle, somehow nearing empty.

He grabbed it from her almost immediately, the sudden movement startling her, her hand moving reflexively to her knife at her side. She relaxed as her senses caught up to her, turning to watch as he swallowed the rest of the whiskey as if it were life water. She ignored the way his eyes shined, looking down at the damn forest floor to give him his moment of privacy.

_You're gonna miss me when I'm gone, Daryl Dixon._

She was right. Sometimes he wondered if that was all he did. And he knew one day it would get him killed. He couldn't just let things go, Beth was right about that too. The big things, they stayed with him, they haunted him. But maybe that was what he wanted after all. If people like Hershel and Beth weren't allowed to make it in this world, why was he? What did he do to be standing there right now? He ain't never saved nobody's life. Not like Hershel had. He didn't believe in hope and all that garbage, not like Beth. She shared her light with him and now he was destined to live in the darkness. The shadows had become him and he wasn't fighting back anymore.

His head snapped up at a movement out of the corner of his eye. It was only a moment, a flash of gold. He couldn't be sure about it, his head swam in the amber liquid. His breath was still caught in his throat and he reached for his crossbow. He glanced over at Carol who was reacting similarly, a knife clenched tightly in her hand. "Didya see somethin'?"

Carol shook her head. "Can't be sure." She moved quietly to his back, flanking him in proper stance so she could cover his back just in case. The sun was setting casting a gray and pink shadow over the world and the woods were growing more and more dangerous by the minute. He suddenly felt sober, eyes scanning the woods for any sign of movement. Dark blue orbs fell to the forest floor, perhaps there were tracks that he'd overlooked in his careless self pity before Carol had come to find him. But he saw nothing. He heard nothing.

He could feel the tenseness of Carol's back pressed against his. "Should we head back?"

Daryl didn't answer right away and Carol didn't press. He knew it was the best option and he'd be damned if he let something happen to someone else on his watch. But his feet were reluctant to move and his brain was determined not to let the rest of him know why. But he knew why. For that brief moment, that flash in front of his eyes, he could almost pretend – almost _hope_ – it was Beth.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Consider this a part II to chapter one. You guys deserve it. **

The air smelled of damp pine and the warm late evening sun just before it has been chased away by the night chill. Sapphire blue eyes turned to the sky, watching as heavy gray clouds moved in to chase away the fleeting clear blue that had only just settled in after a storm that same morning.

A shift in the wind stole her attention, the sickly smell of death that never seemed to leave her nose completely. It was almost overwhelming which meant it was close and it was time to move on. She glanced towards the sun slowly beginning its decent into night. If the setting sun was the west, the smell was coming from the north and she didn't need anyone telling her that she should be moving in the opposite direction.

She stood in the center of her makeshift camp and fit what she could carry or wouldn't be easy to replace back into her bag and left the rest behind. She'd find more supplies if she needed them when she got where she was going. She always did. Slinging her backpack over her back, she clutched her knife tightly in her hand. Her footfalls were silent, practiced. Her eyes scanned the ground for tracks, an itch in the back of her mind of a memory that didn't seem to want to jump start. She didn't stop to try and decipher the feeling. She had in the past and it only left her frustrated and vulnerable.

It was hard to remember anything before the hospital. If she hadn't known any better, she would have thought her entire life began there. She shuddered against the thought, willing it away, focusing only on making it to the next place alive. She wouldn't make it without a clear head and thinking about the hospital was the exact opposite way to accomplish that.

She looked towards the sky once more. She had about two hours left of sunlight (if she was lucky) and a whole lot of walking to do before she felt safe enough to set up a camp for the night. She clutched her bag tighter around her shoulders, eyes scanning the floor and ears alert and listening for the sound of approaching footsteps. Both human and walker alike, they were not welcome sounds.

The sweat beaded on her forehead despite the crisp chill in the air. She hadn't stopped moving at a quick and steady pace since she'd started and though she'd managed to push the fatigue to the back of her mind, the rest of her wasn't getting the message. She palmed at her sticky, salty skin and looked to the sky. It looked as though someone had taken a paintbrush to it; a melting pot of subdued pinks and blues and purples and grays. She had only a moment to see that her daylight was waning quickly before the hissing sounded behind her. She could tell just by the careless shuffle of their feet that there were three and she spun, hand gripping her knife tight and poised to attack. A rush of adrenaline pumped through her, the tiredness in her body forgotten.

It only took a few long legged strides until she was grabbing a fistful of walker hair and shoving it into the one shuffling at her and they both went tumbling down. Shifting to her right, she swung her weaponed hand hard, shoving the blade deep into the skull of the walker, it's black blood coloring her lips and the collar of her shirt. She watched as the light went out in its eyes, falling to the ground in a lifeless heap and she yanked her blade free as the other two were busy righting themselves from the fall, arms outstretched and reaching for her. With a flick of her wrist, the blood of her blade fell like a red rain storm on the ground where she stood and in the next moment, her blade was deep in the walker closest to her. It fell to the ground with a thud and the third quickly joined it, her blade sunken deep into the jugular and at the last second jerked up and twisted. There was a snarl on her lips, a guttural primitive growl in the back of her throat. She waited, her chest rising and falling in excitement and adrenaline. When none came, she wiped the blood of her knife off on the shirt of the walker at her feet and stuck it back in the sheath at her belt. She righted the pack on her shoulders and continued forward, wiping the blood from her face with her sleeve. She'd have to find a place to rinse off in the morning.

A sound pricked at her ears and her head whipped around as her feet carried her lithely and near-silently to duck behind the nearest tree. Her blood was coursing hot through her veins again, her heart beating loudly and wildly in her chest. She was almost certain that he had seen her. She held her breath as she listened, waiting for the sounds of footfalls coming her way, but they didn't come. She chanced a look around the other side of the tree, moving silently around it. Peeking around the opposite side, she seized the opportunity to side-step behind the trunk of the tree to her left, it's branches low and thick enough to hide her. She could see them and in the last remnants of daylight, she doubted they could see her. With the sun at her back, she had the advantage. She crept down into a stalking stance, moving swiftly, keeping to the cover of the trees. From what she could see, there was only two of them – a man and a woman – and they were looking wildly around their surroundings. They hadn't seen her. She pressed her back flat against a tree and pulled her knife from its sheath and held it at the ready.

Focusing on slowing her breathing, she craned her neck to listen. She held her breath, back pressed so firmly against the tree she could feel the bark cutting into her skin. The woods were quiet. Absolutely quiet and she paused only a few more beats before she peeked her head around the corner. All the air left her lungs as an arrow whizzed just past her head as she ducked back behind the tree only a fraction of a moment before. He was onto her now. She spun back in the direction she'd come, using the thick brush as cover. She could only just see their outlines through the leafy curtain, but she was almost certain he was still looking at where she had just been and he hadn't seen her slip away.

Her chest rose and fell heavily, hot tears welling in her eyes. She was going to have to kill these people. It wasn't like it was a shocking revelation, but it was a somber one. She'd killed two people (that she could remember) in her life and it wasn't like it ever got any easier. She was aware she was taking a life but it was true that it was kill or be killed and it just wasn't worth it to take the chance. She couldn't think about that, though. Taking in a deep breath, she willed it all away. It was survival. In the end... that was all it was. After her moment to compose herself, she peeked around the tree again where she could just barely see the outline of them. They hadn't moved much, both still looking in the wrong direction, but poised and ready at all angles. She'd lost her element of surprise. She did a quick survey of her surroundings, spotting the arrow he'd shot at her lodged just behind the tree to her left. She dropped to the ground, crawling silently within the thick forest brush that she hoped hid her well enough. Moving slowly and quietly to the tree with the arrow. She stood slowly, not breathing as if just the tiniest breath would give her away. She positioned herself and tugged at the arrow. It came loose after a few tugs, straining her arms so she wouldn't make a sound and then tossed the arrow into the forest back the way she had just come. It landed with the sounds of crunching leaves and forest and floor and she clutched the handle of her knife so tightly her knuckles turned white. It was his split second of distraction that she used to launch herself at him, knife raised and aimed for his throat.

He was faster than she was, though, dropping his crossbow as his hands grabbed hers so tightly she knew they would bruise. The force of his grasp shocked her and she lost her grip on the knife as it went spiraling to the ground below. She was weaponless and and vulnerable and they both knew it. She writhed desperately, trying to free herself from his grip. But when she looked at him again, his face had changed, distorted so drastically that it knocked her off kilter. His hands gripped her wrists so tightly she cried out in pain.

It was like he couldn't hear her. His face was so heartbreakingly confusing that she felt powerless in his grip, powerless to fight back or even move. It felt like an eternity that he held her there like that, but soon he was uttering one word that sucker punched her right in the stomach.

Bewildered, he cried, "_Beth_?"


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: This chapter sort of back tracks a bit to get Daryl's POV on the whole thing. Also, I'm going to take a moment to thank all of you that have reviewed, favorited, and followed this story. It really means a lot to me. I meant to have this chapter out sooner, but my brain has jumped around to a bunch of different chapters, so I've got a bunch of random things saved here that hopefully make their way to you. Again, thank you! I appreciate every single one of you.**

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Daryl cursed under his breath, kicking at the dirt with the toe of his boot. The feel of Carol at his back propelled him into hunter mode, his eyes sweeping the ground, but it was too dark to catch sight of any prints from where they were standing. God _fucking_ dammit. He'd missed his opportunity to get Carol away safely because he'd wanted to hold onto that sick little _fantasy_ that Beth had found her way back to him – to them. And his track record for keeping the women safe wasn't exactly something to write home about.

He nodded his head back to Carol, speaking low so only she could hear. "Think they're comin' up the side here." His head jerked in the direction of the cluster of trees and thick brush. "Keep lookin' 'at way in case they ain't alone. I got 'em over here." He felt her nod her understanding and kept his eyes to the trees, listening for any signs of company. He heard nothing, but boy his blood was boiling. He could _feel_ it, knew they were hunting him. The hunter being hunted. It would have been almost comical if it didn't burn his ass ten ways to Sunday. "Man, can't see nothin' with this damn sun," he mumbled angrily under his breath, toeing at the dirt again.

He held his crossbow at the ready, the feel of it firm against his chest, as he craned his neck to listen for any sound of movement. He knew what he'd've done, but he also wouldn't've been this stupid in the first damn place. His finger hovered over the trigger, just itching to send a bolt straight into the skull of the prick with the nerves of steel. He could feel his muscles tense in his shoulders and he took a deep breath to ease the tension. He was a lousy shot when he let it get to his head, so he cleared it, looking over his shoulder at Carol. "Anythin'?" She shook her head and he let out a low growl. They were asking for a fight and he was just itching to give them one.

It seemed he didn't have to wait long, however, as a silhouette peered around a tree (close, too close) and he didn't hesitate a moment to send a bolt flying at their head. "_Fuck_," he cursed under his breath as he heard the unmistakable sound of his arrow lodging itself nice and tight in the bark of an old slash pine. _Missed_.

He clenched his jaw as he reloaded, spitting angrily at the ground with a sniff. Carol was half turned to him and he met her gaze. "Next time they ain't gon' be so lucky."

His crossbow was back against his chest, ready and aimed . Now he was pissed and a mix of a bunch of other emotions he decided not to care enough about to give names to and the price was that son of a bitch's head with his bolt sticking clear through the back of it.

With his crossbow aimed at the tree, he shot a quick glance around. He hadn't heard much else from that direction, but he kept his bow trained anyway, eyes making quick rounds through the thinned out parts of the trees, shifting his feet with annoyance as he came up empty handed.

And then it happened.

It was almost _too_ predictable. One of his own moves he'd used countless times. The difference was, it worked on the walkers. Not so much the people. 'Specially not as skilled as he was.

The sound came from a couple of feet back the way they'd come, the sound of crunching damp forest floor, but it was too clipped, too light, too sloppy to be footfalls. He was expecting them when they came flying from the tree, though he'd been looking in the wrong direction. He caught his attacker by the wrists, hard, the glint of the knife on the evening sun catching his eye as it fell to the ground. He wrestled with the smaller statured woman – hadn't been expecting that one – with the wild golden hair yowling like a wild animal.

She fought and wrestled and he had to swing his head to push the too-long hair from his eyes to get a better look. His face went white, the air leaving his lungs in a whoosh of a breath as if he'd been kicked in the stomach. He only gripped her tighter as she fought against him. Her eyes were wild, pulled wide and panicked, glazed over as if she were working on instinct alone.

His chin trembled, his vision blurry as he blinked desperately to will it away. No, there was no way. There was _no_ way. All this time he'd been trying to find her most of him had believed she was really and truly dead.

He hated how his voice shook when he said her name, feeling Carol whip around and fall to her knees behind him. "_Beth_?"

Her head snapped up, but the familiarity didn't settle over her sapphire gaze. There was just a moment of no fight, no movement, as they stared each other down. A pain he couldn't quite name gripped his heart so tight he nearly lost his grip on her. Desperate now, he shook her. "Beth! Beth!" Even Carol came around to her side, though the ghost Beth hadn't even acted yet like she'd seen her.

The anything-but-calm calm that had surrounded them was broken at the sound of an ear piercing scream. Beth's scream. The sound caught Daryl off guard, his grip slipping only a second, but long enough for her to wriggle free from him. She sprung back from his grip, too far out of reach, but his quick thinking had his foot stamping down on the knife below her just as she made a grab for it. Weaponless and frightened, he watched the look of an animal cornered flicker across her face and it stopped him short a moment. She truly and honestly hadn't recognized them. The panic swelled in his chest as he pulled himself up, her knife in his hands. Carol was standing then too, poised with her hand on the sheath at her side. "Go back to camp and grab Rick. Maybe Michonne too. Let 'im know what we just seen. I'mma go after her." He didn't wait for her to agree, pointedly ignoring the way his voice cracked and shook, and took off on Beth's heels. He knew Carol would do what needed to be done and he couldn't waste another moment. He wasn't letting her get away this time.

He entertained the thought that perhaps this wasn't Beth. Just a wild girl with the face of a dead one he used to know.

_I know you look at me and just see another dead girl._

He dismissed the thought immediately. There was no way. No. This was his girl. A growl ripped through his throat as he gained on her. Girl was fast, he had to give her that. She turned a sharp left and he cursed as he zoomed past and had to reroute to follow her. She never looked back, just kept her head slightly cocked to listen. He would've been impressed if it weren't for the cold and fast way his blood rushed through his veins. "Beth!" he called again, but she didn't turn back.

His feet pounded against the packed earth beneath him, willing himself forward just a little faster until he was right on her heels. He knew her next move before she made it, the twitch in her hands that he shouldn't have been able to see but somehow still did, tipped him off to another sharp turn and he cut her off as she took a sudden left. His arms circled her waist, pulling them both down. Mud covered and kicking, he held her tight and close. Her desperation to get away from him, the way she cried out just made him hold her tighter, his breathing heavy and ragged. "I ain't gonna hurt ya." She fought halfheartedly then, as if the fight had gone out of her like a light. He wasn't convinced she believed him, but at the very least it was something. When he spoke again, his voice was quiet. As comforting as Daryl Dixon could manage. "I ain't gonna hurt ya."

With Beth still wrapped tightly and securely in his arms, he looked around, hoping they weren't too far from camp and that Rick would be coming up soon to help because now that he had her, he didn't have half an idea what to do with her. Surely she'd run if he let her go. He wasn't gonna let her go. He wasn't gonna be responsible for it a second time. Damn near killed him the first.

She was shaking and his attention returned to her. He craned his neck to look at her, but her eyes were shut tight. She was tense and rigid and he had to look away. There were too many feelings, too many things he didn't have a name for, just knew that he hated them. He'd have to sort it all out. The relief, the confusion, the pain. But not right now. Right now he was holding Beth in his arms and he was flat out ignoring the way his heart lurched painfully at the thought of her not having a damned clue as to who he was.

It wasn't much later when he heard the sounds of footsteps approaching, too slow for his liking. "It's about damn time-"

When he looked up, it wasn't Rick or Michonne or Carol. He should have known by the pattern of the footsteps, but his head had been too full of everything else.

In the clearing maybe ten yards out, twenty or so walkers were making their way towards them.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: A big thank you to those that favorite and review and add this story to your alerts. I genuinely enjoy writing these two and to know that there are people out there enjoying this story really makes me happy. So a big thank you to you guys! And now time for the shameless plug. I did just publish the first chapter of a new Bethyl story. If AU's are your thing, go check it out. It's called Battlefield and it has lots of exciting things coming up. Again, thank you and please remember to review to let me know what you thought.**

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The putrid smell of death filled Beth's lungs and her heart plummeted into her stomach. Her instinct to fall into a defensive stance and fight took over and she struggled to free herself from the man who was holding her captive. She was going to die and it was going to be his fault. From the way he held her, she had to wriggle to free her head enough to look back at the relatively small herd coming their way. Adrenaline coursed through her and she tried to break free from his hold again, hearing his slew of curses as she did so.

"God damn it, Beth. Just _stop_."

That word again. _Beth_. Beth Beth Beth Beth Beth. It felt familiar in a way that nothing else had. She wanted to try the word out in her own mouth, but they were coming closer and he still had her pinned expertly beneath him. Her chest rose and fell heavily as she panicked and craned her neck to watch him so she didn't have to keep her eyes on the walking dead making their way towards them.

He was looking around, peering through the trees as if he was looking for someone. Or willing back up to show. He growled, a low, guttural sound as his hold loosened around her. Just as she was about to bolt, it tightened again. He was switching positions, pulling them upright and now she had no choice but to watch them as they stalked closer and closer. A vision in her head of him pushing her at them at the last moment to distract themselves with as he got away had her tense and she planted herself with the advantage if that was, in fact, his plan, then the tables would soon be turning.

But instead, he let her go. Had to, she realized, as he positioned his crossbow at his shoulder and took aim. She hesitated, for a reason she couldn't quite understand as they gained on them, so close now she could reach out and touch them. But he'd taken her knife. She was weaponless.

"Beth!" His voice called to her again and her head turned automatically to answer. Her eyes were on him, wide and wild. She watched as he reached down, pulling her knife free from a sheath it didn't quite fit and tossed it to her. She caught it, standing stunned and confused for a moment before instinct took over. The sound of the bolts flying free from the crossbow beat like a war drum and she tightened her grip on her knife just as she raised it to sink deep into the skull of the first walker that had made its way towards her. The sound of bodies dropping to the ground was almost thrilling; the bounce back in her step as she sunk her blade into the decomposing skulls of the undead. This was where she felt the most natural, the most at ease. She had almost forgotten about her kidnapper behind her, but as she became aware of him, she became acutely aware of the pattern they'd fallen into together. Synchronized movements that seemed neither planned nor practiced. They were entirely natural and Beth tensed again, a strange annoyance at the idea making her bristle. Distracted for just a moment by him – the way he moved, the way he moved _with her_ – was just enough time for a walker to get the better of her, its decomposing arms grabbing her shoulders. A panicked scream tore through her throat, a bad move on her part that she realized a moment too late. Everything seemed to happen at once, Daryl turned with his crossbow raised and let a bolt fly into the eye socket of the walker holding her, just moments before its teeth sunk into the skin of her shoulder. It fell to the ground and she shook, pulling away from it as fast as she could manage. But her scream had the others headed in her direction and she was severely out numbered. She knocked the one closest to her back with the heel of her boot, almost losing her footing as she struggled to right herself and plunged her knife into the side of the skull of the walker coming up on the last one's flank. It dropped to the ground with a satisfying thud.

But they kept coming. Suddenly Daryl was there by her side letting bolts loose and when they got too close, he dropped his crossbow to hang around his back and shoved his blade into the brains of the walkers he could reach. They fell into a pattern, Beth at his side, taking what he couldn't reach and vice versa. It was almost nice, as she lost herself in the instinctual fight for her life, to know she had back up. And to know that he seemed to know the art in which she hunted. She didn't have time to stop and realize why that might have been strange. She was just grateful to be alive. She'd deal with him once they dealt with them. The walker she'd kicked over was up and coming towards her again and she stuck her blade into the side of his head and pulled it free with an easy tug. She blew out an exasperated breath and spared time for a quick look around. Most of the herd were now lying truly dead on the ground around them. There were only about seven or eight more that she could see and that, she knew, was when the fun began. She broke rank, charging at the walker closest to her and raised her knife high above her head, bringing it crashing down into the top of its skull. She kicked it free from her knife with the heel of her boot and smiled wickedly as it fell to the ground.

The next one was coming up on her side and she didn't hesitate as she readied herself with her knife poised until it fell dead in front of her with a bolt through its eye. Her head whipped around to look at him, a smug hint of a smile on his face. Her eyes narrowed in a glare, but it was all the time she could spare before she had to turn back and waste the next three shuffling unsteadily towards her. The first one fell easy, her knife through its eye socket, but she misjudged the time she had between them and the next one was on her before she could get her sure footing. She took a large step backwards, but her footing was off and she fell on her backside, the walker quick to follow. She screamed as it toppled down on top of her, clumsy hands reaching for her, its teeth snapping hungrily and threatening as she did her best to keep it at arm's length. Her knife had fallen just out of reach and with the dead weight on top of her, she couldn't shift enough to grab it. She could feel its hot, rotten breath on her. Close. Too close.

It had a large bite missing from his neck, the black oozing blood claiming the porcelain of her fingers as she tried to shove him away. She pushed and wriggled and cried as she tried and failed again to reach her knife. It pressed closer and it was all she could do to keep it from her skin. She could faintly hear the sound of the crossbow letting loose the bolts that never came for the walker on top of her. That was when she realized what he was doing.

He was leaving her to die.

She tried one last time as the walker edged even closed to make a grab for her knife, but it was too far out of reach. She let out a defeated cry but she shoved one last time and got just the leverage she needed to scoot out from underneath it just enough to grab the knife and in one fluid motion, it was embedded in its skull and she struggled to pull herself out from underneath the weight. Once she was free she could see that Daryl had done away with the rest and he was watching her. She bent over then, her stomach churning violently as the very little contents it held emptied themselves in a pool at her feet. Hot tears accompanied the burn in her throat and once the dry heaves passed, she gripped the handle of her knife tight in her hand and turned towards Daryl, the anger as hot as the burn in her throat. But he seemed to be a step ahead of her – _again_ – and his crossbow was pointed at her as she slipped into a defensive stance.

"Yer gonna wanna be rethinkin' that, girl. I ain't tryin' to hurt ya."

She stared down the crossbow aimed at her head, standing tall and stoic. "Doesn't look that way from where I'm standin'."

Daryl held firm and she knew it was because he had her beat. She'd be dead the moment _before_ she decided to attack so she slipped the knife into her sheath.

"Thanks for the help," she added, shoving the toe of her boot into the walker she'd fought off. _Alone_. "By the way."

"Said you could take care of yerself. Y'did it."

The words were so familiar they sucked the air right from her lungs. It was a world ago, but she remembered it now. Clear as if she'd lived it only the day before. She'd had the same feeling even then. It took her a moment before she remembered how to breathe again.

"Beth." His voice was quiet, pained and she looked up, a reflex. She blinked, breathing heavy as the anger and the hurt and the fear of the day washed over her at once. She was a girl in a clearing surrounded by walkers, and he was a man standing across from her with a loose hand on his crossbow. And it all came back. Like a train had run her down where she stood, everything that she had pushed down, everything that she had allowed herself to forget... it all came rushing back and she felt sick again. Maggie and Rick and Carl. Judith. Glenn. Daryl. Her daddy.

A howl of pain exploded from the back of her throat and she collapsed where she stood, folding in on herself as her arms hugged her waist as if it was the only thing keeping her together. She was vaguely aware of Daryl as he came to kneel beside her, heard the whisper of her name – _her name_ – against her head. It was a foreign familiarity, the feel of him beside her. It belonged to a different time, a different life, a different _Beth_. Whoever it was that he saw when he looked at her was gone and she'd done everything she could do to forget only to be undone in a case of bad timing.

She didn't want this. She didn't want Old Beth's life. Old Beth died the minute she woke up in that hospital and she'd buried her and her old life along with it. And now it was back. _He_ was back. But what about the rest of them? Who was _gone_? Who that she cared about was gone now? She couldn't do this again. She couldn't see her daddy's face every single time she closed her eyes, the sword coming down on him and watching him as he watched it happen, still alive enough to _feel_ it happen, powerless to do anything. She couldn't feel Maggie's hand wrapped tightly in hers as they cried together and watched the bloody scene from fences away. It was a hazy vibrant memory and it was a moment later that she became aware of his hand on her arm. She flinched away wildly, nearly tripping over a dead walker at her feet to get away.

She could tell he was confused, he didn't know what to do. She wasn't Beth, not his Beth, and he had no idea what she needed from him. How did she tell him she didn't _need _anything? she didn't _want_ it? But her panic felt white hot on her throat as she shrunk away. She could still feel the ghost of his fingers wrapped around her arm even when they were firmly by his sides and she was well out of reach. This wild, broken girl must have looked like she'd killed and was now wearing that girl he used to know. She swallowed as the panic slowly eased away and she could remember where she was and that she was, for the most part, safe. This was why she was _alone_. She didn't need people, people only hurt her. They touched her and they took things away from her and they messed her all up. And thank you very much, but she was damn good at being alone. She'd survived so far on instinct alone.

She could feel him looking at her, but she couldn't meet his gaze because she knew what she would see when she did. He didn't speak and she didn't dare look. But after a long moment, she finally did. And though the eye contact felt strange to her, she held a steady gaze so when she spoke he would know that she was serious.

"I ain't comin' with ya."


	5. Chapter 5

Daryl sputtered, looking at her like she'd grown a second head. Anger, rational and otherwise, bubbled up from his stomach, bile churning as the fire set his insides to a boil. After everything – _everything_! – she was just going to walk away? Did she not understand how much he'd beaten himself up over this? Did she not remember the time they spent together? She'd told him that he was going to miss her when she was gone, and he had. Did the same not apply to her?

_Hurt_.

That irrational anger in his chest, squeezing his heart until it twisted and surged painfully against his ribcage. It was hurt. Pain and rejection.

"The hell y'ain't!" he yelled, taking a menacing step towards her. Her hand still gripped the knife tightly, balanced and ready if she needed it, but he wasn't scared of no damn knife and he sure as hell wasn't scared of Beth Greene. Especially not the new model Beth Greene that stood before him, 'cause this wasn't his girl. He growled as she stood defiant with blue eyes blazing. "Don' make me toss y'over my shoulder and haul yer ass back, 'cause I will."

A staring match ensued, neither one willing to budge, though he could see the tremors in her body. He knew her enough even still to know that she was unsteady, wavering and unsure. There was a wild look to her eyes and he kept a close watch on her knife wielding hand. It struck him then that he didn't trust her and the realization felt like a kick to the gut. He wanted to drop to his knees and beg the real Beth Greene to show her face so he could let himself off the hook of being the reason she had been gone. And he felt responsible for the strange girl standing before him now. If only he'd just let the dumb mutt die.

She had yet to speak, her eyes resting mostly on him, narrowed in a fixed glare, but he could see the way she was taking in her surroundings. She was looking for an easy out because she didn't intend to go willingly.

He pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger, stringing along a slew of curse words and under breath mumblings about how she was still so damn stubborn. At least _that_ hadn't changed. It hadn't been much of an endearing quality even back then, but now it was downright annoying.

But before he lost his temper with the ghost of his Beth, he tried one last approach. He let his crossbow hang at his back, sliding his knife back into its sheath and holding his hands up in surrender. His treads were light and nonthreatening, leaving a wide berth between them as if the proximity might scare her away. "Maggie's back at camp," he said quietly, his voice gruff and as sensitive as was possible for the scruffy man. Maybe he could appeal to her with that angle. Surely even this wild Beth had to still hold that love for her sister. She was, after all, the only living family she had left. "Judith too. She's prob'ly 'bout three now. Maybe even more 'an 'at. You sayin' you wanna leave all that behind?"

The grip on her knife tightened, he noted, knuckles white with the pressure. She was shivering now, wild blue eyes glossy and he thought maybe he'd hit her where it hurt. He realized only then that she hadn't had a way of knowing that Judith had made it out of the prison with the rest of them. "Tyreese had her all along," he explained, voice just as low as it had been a moment before. He thought maybe he was getting somewhere with it, or at the very least buying time until Rick and Michonne could get there, so he continued. "Took care of her 'til we all met up in Terminus. Place was a shit hole, kept us locked up like cattle. Woulda slaughtered us like it too, but we got out and we been lookin' for you." He paused, dark blue hues sweeping across her features, taking in her subtle breaths and movements. She still stood ramrod straight, but she didn't look as defiant as she had only moments before. He was wearing her down. "And now yer sayin' y'ain't comin' back with us?"

She snapped back to attention then, his gruff voice growing accusing and throwing her back on the defensive. He could see the threat of the tears and he wanted to push her just a little bit further, sure that when he broke through that threshold, it would be Beth – the _real_ Beth – on the other side.

"I ain't the same girl you been lookin' for," she said finally, squaring her shoulders and jutting her chin out like some child with a superiority complex.

"Well if that ain't the truest damn thing you said all day. Don't change the fact that yer still Beth Greene and you still got family about a hundred steps 'at way." He nodded his head in the direction of the camp and he could see the way Beth twitched, half of her almost desperate to look while the other clung to the idea that she had a choice in the matter.

There wasn't a chance to say anything else as the twigs snapped behind them and they both swung, weapons readied as at least four shadowed figures made their way through the clearing. Daryl took a protective step in front of Beth, an old habit that he still apparently had.

It took only a moment longer before he could see that Rick and Michonne had finally found them. He could hear a sharp intake of breath behind him and as he peered around their quickly gaining forms, he could see two more figures. One was holding the other by the shoulders and it was obvious they shook and wriggled desperately, trying to free themselves from the confines of the hold. It was only a moment later that their faces came into view and he understood the gasp that had sounded from behind him.

"Beth?" The voice was breathless and ragged, thick with tears. Maggie fought against the hold on Glenn who let his hands drop to his sides easily now. They were all looking at Beth like they'd never seen anything like her before and for a reason unbeknownst to Daryl, it sent a prickling down his neck, hackles raised and annoyed as he took a protective step closer to Beth. He didn't even have to know this body snatcher Beth to know that she would hate the way they were all looking at her, like she was some kind of zoo animal. He bristled and as Maggie took long, desperate steps towards Beth, Daryl held up his hand. "Now wait a minu-"

Maggie was paying him no mind as she stalked past him, running towards Beth who seemed as frozen in place as the others. Her eyes snapped to Maggie just as she threw her arms around her shoulders and a strangled cry erupted from Beth's throat, hands shaking as she tried to throw her off. "Don't touch me!" she shrieked, shrinking away and pushing herself backwards to regain some distance.

Maggie fell backwards, off kilter from the shove. No one moved as Beth gulped mouthfuls of air and Daryl could see from where he stood how pale she'd gone, the tears she probably hadn't even noticed slipped down her cheeks. Maggie sat, stunned, until Glenn was at her side, helping her up. Glenn whispered in her ear, but she fought against him, crying about how this wasn't right, that was her sister.

Daryl stole a glance at Beth who was backed against a tree, chest rising and falling shallow and rapid. She was shaking and he caught a glimpse of Old Beth and a surge of need to protect her had him standing between her and Maggie. The older Greene's eyes narrowed, wet streaks paving salty trails down her cheeks. "She's been through a lot, more 'an we know. Let's give 'er some time to adjust."

"She's my _sister_!" Maggie argued, halfheartedly fighting against Glenn's grip on her. Beth hadn't made much of a noise, but he could still hear her breathing; the panicked kind and damn if it didn't transport him to a time when he'd felt weak and helpless. Suddenly, he prickled as a thought settled around him. What the hell happened to her?

"Jus' back up, alrigh'? Give her a minute." Rick and Michonne had kept their distance, Rick's face pulled into a look of concern for the New Beth that stood in front of them, all of them wearing the same alarmed look on their face at her outburst.

With a hand pressed against her heart and her breathing slowly returning to normal, Daryl watched as Beth looked up to study them all as they studied her. Her eyes narrowed as she used the tree at her back as a brace to stand herself up. On wobbly legs she stood in front of them and she looked so much smaller than she had only a few minutes ago when she'd been sassing him and telling him all the things she wasn't gonna do. Her glare moved to Daryl and Daryl alone and when she spoke her voice was shaky. "Why couldn't you just let me go?"

The question hit him like a train, ran him down where he stood and stole the air from his lungs. "Wasn't an option," he said with a shrug, eyes on her shoes and not on her face. He kicked at the dirt with the toe of his boot, uneasiness settling down around him. How could she not want this? How could she not want to be back with her family? It didn't make sense to him. Shit wasn't adding up and he chanced a glance at Beth again only to realize she was steeling herself desperately against the tears swimming in her eyes, threatening to fall and ruin the facade of being strong and independent. That irrational anger was back, bubbling up from his chest and exploding through his mouth before he'd had the chance to think it through. "Fine then! Ya wanna go? Git! Go on, girl, git outta here! Don't need y'anyway! Though we was yer family, but since we ain't..." He waved his hand in the air dismissively, ignoring the pointed stares from the group as he stalked off through the trees, turning his back on the lot of them.

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**A/N: Please remember to review, let me know what you thought. We're getting there, I promise! **


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